adam sandler

Greetings! Let us not dally and get straight to the point. Not since Dennis Quaid’s pathetic attempt at portraying the legendary Doc Holiday have I ever witnessed a more disgraceful performance. My good men (and good women), this fraud has pulled the wool over our eyes for far too long. His supporters make me want to upchuck my kale smoothies while I wither to my knees, my body quivering with disgust. His 1.60 WHIP (before last night’s bed shizzing) makes me long for Marco Estrada. His 4.88 ERA makes me lust after Chase Whitley. Seriously, RuPaul has higher testicular fortitude. I’d much rather be tied to a razor blade studded lawn chair, naked, with my mouth duck taped and forced to watch Paul Blart: Mall Cop, one AND two, in a cage with starved hyenas along with 50 rattlesnakes than watch Strasburg pitch. Now he’s injured, and if my animal instincts are proven correct, a DL stint is on the horizon. Don’t be shocked if it’s a season ender, which may be a good thing in the long run, like having your family’s rabid dog drowned after blood-lusting after a river otter when you didn’t have the heart to gun it down yourself. [Jay’s Note: Wait, what?] Say one thing for Stephen Strasburg, he’s a disappointment. It’s over.

Right off the bat (pun intended, or not, I’m not sure), I’d like to sincerely apologize for missing a week. I tried to squeeze it in but my wedding took precedence in the end. Beautiful party. Gorgeous ceremony. I looked stunning, oh, and my Wife did too. Please, blog, may I have some more?